


Cupcake

by wheel_pen



Series: Viridian Mal [19]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fish out of Water, Gen, Imprinting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 14:32:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon, Trip, T’Pol, and Mal have dinner in the Captain’s Mess. Nobody throws up this time, so that’s a plus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cupcake

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Viridians appear human, but are actually aliens who imprint on other people (Viridian or otherwise) and form a bond with them. They also live their entire life cycle in about six Earth years.
> 
> 2\. In each series, a different character is a Viridian, who was raised by mean Klingons on an outpost. An Enterprise crewmember is captured by the Klingons and they inadvertently form a bond with the Viridian, who helps them escape. Then they return to rescue the Viridian and bring them aboard the Enterprise. The Viridian homeworld is contacted and the Enterprise crew learn the Viridian will most likely die if they are sent away. So they end up staying on the Enterprise, and the crewmember has to adjust.
> 
> 3\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

"So."

"Yeah."

"Well."

"Hmm."

"I'm hungry!"

"Yes, Mal, we know. We're hungry, too."

"We're waiting for T'Pol."

"She said she wouldn't be very long."

"I wonder what the Vulcan definition of 'not very long' is? Remember they live to be, like, two hundred."

"Why can't we eat while we're waiting for her?"

"Because that's rude, Mal. It's rude to start eating without someone."

"We started eating without Hoshi at lunch."

"That was because Hoshi called and told us to go ahead without her. It's not rude if the other person says it's okay."

"Isn't it rude of T'Pol to make us wait to eat? We're starving! What if we starve to death waiting for her?"

"You mean, what if _you_ starve to death, and that's not gonna happen. You just ate a couple hours ago."

"That was only a piece of cherry pie. That's not enough to keep me alive for very long."

"Well you're just gonna have to tough it out, buddy."

"I'm giving her five more minutes. Then I'm calling the steward."

"Hooray!"

"Way to go on the manners, Captain."

"Well, she might have been detained. Or something. Maybe she figured it would be illogical for us to wait on her past a certain time."

"But, because we _are_ illogical, she'd be _expecting_ us to wait, then, wouldn't she?"

"Well, then, maybe if we went ahead and ate, that would be good, because it would be logical. And she would be pleasantly surprised."

"But she knows it's considered rude among humans not to wait. So we might be logical, but also rude."

"Is it better to be illogical, or to be rude?"

"To the Vulcans it's probably the same thing."

"I'm hungry!"

"Yes, Mal, we _know_. Be quiet."

"Can't I have a bread stick?"

"Absolutely not."

"I won't be obscene with it, I promise!"

"That ship has sailed, buddy. Notice there are no longer bread sticks on the table even. You have single-handedly changed the traditional layout of the Captain's Table."

"Have I? How lovely!"

"Chef's made his special lasagna for dinner tonight, I hear."

"D—n, that stuff's good."

"What are we having?"

"Lasagna. It's a pasta dish. Kind of like ravioli. You had that before."

"Luh-zahn-nyuh. Luh-ZAHN-nyuh. Luh- _ZAHHHHHHHN_ -nyuh—"

"Stop it."

"It's a funny word, though. It has funny sounds in it."

"Well, I suppose it does."

"How do you spell it?"

"I-T."

"What?"

"You asked how to spell 'it'. I-T."

"Ohhh, I get it! You're _so_ clever, Trip."

"Glad someone appreciates my rapier wit."

"So am I. Saves me the trouble."

"Well then, how do you spell 'lasagna'?"

"Just like it sounds."

"Trip!"

"Maybe he doesn't _know_ how to spell it."

"Of course he does, Captain! He just spelled _it_ a moment ago!"

"Wha—ohhh. Ha ha."

"You're learnin' at the feet of the master, buddy."

"Yes, he's like Oscar Wilde. In the third grade."

"Who?"

"Never mind."

"Trip, how do you spell 'lasagna'?"

"Mal is very persistent."

"Yes, it's one of his more ambiguous qualities… Okay, fine. Are you ready for this? Lasagna. L-A-S-A-G-N-A. Lasagna."

"Hang on, I suspect we may have a professional in our midst."

"Bay County Junior Spelling Bee champ, three years runnin'."

"You are such a geek."

"I know it."

"Has it been five minutes yet?"

"Um… close enough. I'll just—"

The door chimed. "Come in," Archer allowed.

T'Pol walked in. "I apologize for my tardiness, Captain—"

"Oh, Commander T'Pol, I'm _so_ glad to see you!" Mal enthused, peering over the table at her. "I thought we were going to _starve_ to death waiting for you!"

"Mal!" Trip snapped. "That's very rude. What if you've made T'Pol feel bad for bein' late?"

"I assure you, he has not, Commander," T'Pol began.

"Well, I mean, theoretically, he _could_ have," Trip explained. "With someone else, probably."

"I'm sorry, Commander T'Pol," Mal told her sadly. "I didn't mean to make you not feel bad."

No one was quite sure how to respond to that, so they all just sat down. The steward arrived with their drinks shortly thereafter.

"How come I've got water, and the rest of you have colored things?"

"I have water as well, Mal," T'Pol pointed out. "Plain water is an extremely healthful drink for the body."

"Is it?" Mal asked curiously.

"Indeed," T'Pol affirmed. "In its pure state it has none of the chemicals, sugars, and other additives that drinks such as lemonade"—Trip—"or iced tea"—Archer—"possess."

"Oh." Mal thought about this for a while. "Then Trip ought to take my water," he decided, climbing up on his knees with his glass in hand.

Trip pulled his glass of lemonade to safety. "No thanks, Mal, I like my additives just fine."

"But it's better for you, Trip!" Mal insisted worriedly. "What if there's some horrible chemical in that lemonade that's dangerous for you? I've always been suspicious of _lemonade_ …" He eyed the glass of lemonade as though it should be bagged and stamped with a 'hazardous waste' sign.

Trip gave T'Pol a glare. "I'll be fine," he told Mal as patiently as he could. "I appreciate your concern, but one little old glass of lemonade isn't gonna kill me."

"Maybe you should take the water as _well_ ," Mal wheedled. "Perhaps, if you took a sip of lemonade, and then a _biiiig_ gulp of water, it would dilute the toxins in the lemonade sufficiently."

"Mal, there's no toxins in the lemonade, okay?" Trip said to him. "T'Pol, you started this. Set him straight."

"Humans have an amazing facility for consuming food and drink which are not healthful for them, yet continuing to function at a level considered adequate," T'Pol replied unhelpfully.

"Gee, thanks," Trip told her sarcastically. "Mal, would you get back down?"

"Just let me taste the lemonade first," Mal insisted, reaching for the glass. "If I don't fall over dead right away, you can have it back—"

Seeing that his friend needed a little help, Jon intervened. "Mal, come on, sit back down, the lemonade is fine, Trip has it all the time—"

Somehow—and no one was really sure how, not even T'Pol—the scene ended with both Trip and Jon doused in ice water. Mal sat back down with his nearly empty glass and made himself very small. Of course, the steward returned just as Trip was trying to help Archer pat his pants dry.

"I'm beginning to think the kitchen staff spies on us," he remarked to Jon, after the steward had left again.

"I can understand why, the way our meals go," Archer shot back. He glanced over at Mal, curled up dejected and alone in the corner, and gave Trip a look.

Trip sighed. "Hey, Mal, come here, buddy."

"I don't think I ought to," Mal sniffed miserably. "I'll just do something horrible again."

"You just spilled a little water," Trip countered. "That's not horrible." Jon's rather icy briefs weren't so sure about that, but he wasn't going to say anything.

"I believe humans have a saying," T'Pol offered. "One should not cry over spilled milk. I understand this to mean that one should not become overly upset about small mishaps."

"That's exactly right, T'Pol," Trip told her, for once in complete agreement.

"What's milk?" Mal asked in confusion.

"Never mind," Trip said. "Just come on back over here. We're not mad at you."

Mal looked at Jon. "It was just an accident," Archer assured him, trying not to squirm in his cold, moist seat.

Cautiously Mal returned to Trip's side. Trip ruffled his hair and let him lean against his leg for a bit, until he felt better. Or at least until the steward came back in with their meals.

"This is lasagna?" Mal asked, disappointment evident in his voice as he surveyed the multi-colored lump on his plate.

"Yeah, what's wrong, don't you like it?" Trip said to him, mouth already watering for his own.

"It's not what I thought it would look like," Mal admitted dubiously. "You said it was like ravioli. Ravioli is a little pocket full of meat and cheese. This is not a little pocket."

"Well _maybe_ ," Trip suggested, "you should take a bite of it before you decide you don't like it."

Mal examined the dish more closely, finally breaking off a piece with his fork. Then suddenly he became very excited. "It has layers!" he exclaimed, startling the diners. "Trip, look, it has _layers_!"

"Indeed it does," Trip agreed dryly. "Layers of pasta, and meat, and cheese."

"Well, I just didn't realize…" Mal said to himself, as if this made everything different. "How _lovely_. Layers!"

Trip and Jon exchanged an amused look. "So, T'Pol," Trip began, finally cutting into his chunk of lasagna, "how are those sensor upgrades working? All you could dream about and more?"

"They are proving adequate to my needs, for the moment," the First Officer allowed.

"Aw, come on," Trip needled. "All that work my team put into it and it's just 'adequate'?"

"Well, I—"

" _Trip! Don't eat that!_ "

Trip nearly dropped his fork full of lasagna. "Why the h‑‑l not?!" Glass shards, cyanide sauce, roof about to cave in on them—

Mal scrambled up to his knees at Trip's side. "It's too hot," he explained. "You'll burn yourself." He placed his hand over Trip's on the fork and gently blew on Trip's bite of lasagna. "There you go. That should be alright."

"Thank. You," Trip replied in a strangled tone. Jon had his hand firmly over his mouth to hide his smirk.

"You're welcome," Mal said happily, sitting back down.

Looking decidedly less thrilled with it, Trip ate the piece of lasagna. "Not too hot?" Jon asked innocently, when he felt he could speak.

"Just right," Trip answered thinly.

"Humans are in the habit of collecting and trading humorous stories, are they not?" T'Pol observed in an attempt to be helpful. "I should think that at this point, Commander, you would be quite rich with these stories, thanks to Mal."

"Yeah, in ten years we'll look back and laugh," Archer seconded.

Trip was about to reluctantly agree. "I'll be dead in ten years," Mal reminded them matter-of-factly from the floor.

"J---s, Mal!" Trip swore. This time he threw his napkin on the table, as if giving up. "What the h—l kind of thing to say is _that_?"

"It _is_ factually true," T'Pol pointed out.

Trip seemed too disgusted to explain, or perhaps disturbed, so Archer quickly said, "Talking about death tends to make humans uncomfortable, Mal. It makes them think of people they cared about and lost, or will lose someday."

"Oh." Mal gave this some consideration. "Trip, you'll miss me when I'm dead, won't you?" Trip didn't have to answer verbally. "Oh, I _know_ you will!" Mal threw his arms around the engineer's waist, pressing his face against Trip's slightly water-dampened side. "Even though I spill water on you and do obscene things with bread sticks and _have no respect for personal boundaries_ like you told Lt. Hess?"

"Well," Trip replied, clearing his throat, "I guess I probably will. A little bit, anyway." He patted Mal's back. Keenly aware of the eyes on him, he added flippantly, "Although if you don't stop stealin' my hot water in the shower, I may boot you out the airlock myself."

Mal was unfazed by this threat. "Perhaps we should shower at the same time," he suggested earnestly to Trip, looking up at him hopefully.

"Save water, shower with a friend," Jon deadpanned.

"And that would be a _no_ , buddy," Trip replied to Mal, managing to keep his dignity.

Mal burrowed his head against Trip again. "I think it would be fun," he opined. "I think it would be just like when we snuggle in bed, only with the lovely hot water running over us."

And there went Trip's dignity. Along with Jon's, as he snorted a bit in response.

"I was not aware of your expert qualifications as a 'snuggler,' Commander," T'Pol remarked flatly, and Jon giggled involuntarily again, fairly certain that the Vulcan was outright teasing Trip.

"Yeah, well," Trip coughed, "you shoulda read my résumé better."

"Bay County Junior champ, three years running," Jon supplied, admirably straight-faced.

"Well, uh, if the _moment_ is over…" Trip hinted strongly, and Mal detached himself and settled back down on the floor. Trip sighed and shook his head, then refocused himself on the meal. He cut another piece of lasagna, glancing at Mal nervously as he brought it to his mouth. The other man seemed to think the food had cooled sufficiently and didn't try to stop him.

A few minutes later Trip and T'Pol were still arguing about the merits of the sensor upgrades when Archer, for lack of anything better to do, idly looked down to check on the person sitting near his feet. "Mal, what are you doing?" he asked suddenly, drawing Trip's attention. Pasta, meat, and cheese were spread out all across Mal's plate.

"I'm disassembling the lasagna," Mal explained to him cheerfully. "It has layers, you know."

"Don't you like it?" Trip asked.

"Yes, it's quite good," Mal replied.

"Well then why aren't you eating it?"

"I wanted to see what it was made of," Mal answered, starting to become a little hesitant. "Did I do something wrong?"

"I think it's generally considered rude to play with your food," Jon mentioned.

"I'm not playing," Mal protested. "I'm examining."

"Just eat it, Mal, okay?" Trip suggested. "It's gonna get cold and then it won't be as good."

"Well… I guess I can try to put it back together…" Mal looked at the plate dubiously.

"Put it back together, or don't—just eat it," Trip told him. "You're the one who was so hungry a minute ago."

Discussion continued among the three officers, moving into a debate over whether they should go one direction to observe a relatively rare astronomical phenomenon, or the other direction to survey an uninhabited M-class planet. Trip was pulling for the planet, in the hopes that a quiet, steady orbit would give him the chance to purge the impulse manifolds, and possibly also get a little fresh air. T'Pol felt the unusual nebula would be of greater scientific value. Secretly Archer agreed with Trip but he didn't want T'Pol to think he was playing favorites—he was hoping someone would come up with a third option he could choose instead.

"I'm done with the lasagna," Mal announced.

"Good job," Trip praised him absently. "We haven't had time for R&R in about four months and—"

"What's for dessert?"

Trip rolled his eyes at the interruption. "On the other hand, some people don't even _like_ fresh air," he grumbled.

"There are a number of recreational opportunities provided aboard the ship," T'Pol countered. "And there is no guarantee that the planet would be suitable for shore leave. The nebula would allow a far more efficient collection of valuable data."

"Astrometrics would go crazy," Trip allowed, "but the rest of us would be sittin' around bored, with nowhere to go."

"Perhaps the crew could take up meditation, to gain the mental discipline needed to deal with an occasional lack of stimulation," T'Pol suggested in a Vulcan-snarky tone.

"Cupcakes," Archer said suddenly.

Trip and T'Pol stared at him. "What?"

"Cupcakes," he repeated. "That's what we're having for dessert."

"A _manly_ dessert, then," Trip deadpanned, giving up on his shore leave argument.

"That's what was on the menu," Archer protested.

The next question was inevitable. "What's a cupcake?"

"You'll like it," Trip assured Mal. "It's just cake, but it's like a little piece baked in a cup."

"Oh. What's a regular cake baked in?"

"A pan," Trip shrugged.

"Wouldn't it be a _pancake_ , then?" Mal suggested.

"Um, no," Trip corrected. "Pancakes are made in a _different_ kind of pan."

"Like a frying pan," Jon explained. "Or a skillet, I guess."

"Shouldn't they be called _skillet cakes_ , then?" Mal asked.

"No, a _skillet cake_ is something else," Trip pointed out.

"Oh, yeah," Jon agreed. "Skillet cakes can actually be a lot of different things. My grandmother made one with fried shredded potatoes—"

"Like hash browns?" Trip asked, and Jon nodded.

"Hash?" Mal repeated blankly. "Like the spicy meat paste we had for breakfast the other day?"

"No, that was _corned beef hash_ ," Trip clarified.

"Which doesn't actually have any corn in it," Jon told him. "Why is it called _corned_ then?"

Trip shrugged. "I dunno. Corned beef is basically pickled, right?"

"Pickles?" said Mal faintly.

"No, not actual _pickles_ ," Trip replied. "Pickling is really the preserving process. Pickles are actually cucumbers that _have been_ pickled."

"Stop!" Mal insisted with distress. "Your food names are too confusing!"

"They do lack a certain… _logic_ ," T'Pol agreed.

"Aw, we haven't even gotten to the chicken fingers and buffalo wings!" Trip grinned.

"Can I just have my cupcake, please?" Mal begged. "I don't want to talk about eating something's fingers or wings."

"No, see, that's why it's _funny_ , Mal," Trip tried to tell him. "Chickens don't _have_ fingers. And buffalo don't _have_ wings."

"Buffalo wings are actually chicken wings," Jon added. "I guess—the _sauce_ is buffalo sauce?"

"But that has nothing to do with _actual_ buffalos," Trip continued.

"I don't even know what a buffalo is," Mal admitted. "Although that's a funny word…"

"The animal known as a _buffalo_ in North America is actually a _bison_ ," T'Pol lectured unexpectedly. "Its scientific name is _Bison bison_ and is it a member of the bovine family."

"That means it's like a big cow," Trip simplified.

"And from cows, we get beef, for the corned beef hash," Jon put in.

"But buffalo sauce was actually named after Buffalo, New York, wasn't it?" Trip continued.

"Oh yeah, I remember that," Jon agreed. "I used to visit my cousins in Buffalo all the time."

"Was the city named after the large bovine animal?" T'Pol inquired politely. Her tone implied she thought that was about as sensible as human city names got.

"No…" Jon thought back. "I think it was named after the Buffalo River, which runs near the city."

"Well, was _that_ named after the buffalo animal?" Mal persisted, desperately searching for some semblance of sanity in the world of human naming conventions.

"Maybe," Jon hedged. "Someone told me once it came from a phrase in French meaning 'beautiful river,' or maybe it was the name of a Native American who lived near the stream."

"My head hurts," said Mal. "I want a cupcake. Cupcake, cup-cake, cupppppp-cake…"

"Stop it!"

"But it's a funny word! It's fun to say! Cup-cake, buff-uh-lowwwww, buff-uh-lowwww, cup-cake--"

Trip grimaced. "A buffalo cupcake? Ew."

"But what would it _really_ be made of?" Jon speculated.

Apparently deciding that while the senior staff might have been reduced to discussing the inanities of appetizer names, they weren't going to do anything potentially embarrassing anytime soon, the steward gave up waiting and appeared with dessert. T'Pol waved hers away, but the other three each received two cupcakes on a plate.

Mal eyed his happily. "This looks good," he decided.

"Glad to hear it," Trip told him.

Moments later. "I don't like it very much," Mal complained. "You said it would be like _cake_ , it's _not_ like cake, it's all chewy. I can hardly chew it."

"Geez, sorry, buddy," Trip replied. "Mine's fine."

Mal knelt up to examine Trip's plate. "What's this?" he asked, picking up the discarded paper wrapper from the cupcake Trip was eating.

Trip closed his eyes briefly. "Let me guess. You didn't notice the paper cup the cupcake was baked in."

"Well, no," Mal answered. "Why would I?"

"Good point," Jon poked at Trip.

Trip sighed. "Yes, good point. Take the paper wrapper _off_ the cupcake, _then_ eat it."

"At least he's getting extra fiber," Jon observed.

"Oh." Pause. "Yes, it's much better now. It's just like a piece of cake. Only small."

"Wonders never cease," Trip muttered.

A few minutes later, the steward had retrieved three plates bearing two cupcake wrappers each (or, in Mal's case, about one and a half). T'Pol rose gracefully, prompting Jon and Trip to jump to their feet as well, with Mal scrambling slowly up behind them.

"Captain, Commander, Mal," she acknowledged. "Once again you have provided a… memorable meal. If you'll excuse me, I have much to meditate about tonight."

"Cupcakes?" Archer suggested with a smirk.

"Buffalo?" offered Trip.

"Snuggling?" said Mal. "That's what _I'm_ going to think about!"

"Good night," T'Pol replied, without answering any of them.


End file.
